Amanda's knees are a miraculous thing, see. Most men might well overlook 'em, but that's no excuse not to grant their perfection.
See, Amanda's the kind of girl, fresh out of high school, 19 or 20 years old, long dishwater blonde hair she wears in a ponytail, who'd cause any man a moment's pause and all, but not all would notice her knees.
She works at the small Colorado diner I eat at everyday. I go so often just to watch her walk across the floor, her cute, round ass moving sensually beneath her white poodle-skirt uniform as she carries trays of milkshakes and chili fries from one end of the place to the other.
Her and I live, too, in the same neighborhood. Sometimes I'll see her when I go for a walk, or we meet inadvertently at the communal mailbox.
She knows, of course, that I like her; it's obvious. Then again, a lot of guys like her. Most, I'd say. So it isn't an impressive feat. What would be would be for me to ask her out, which I'm far too shy to do.
I have, you see, an face. Asymmetrical and goofy looking; big nose, weak chin, wrinkly forehead, and ugly patches of seemingly unkillable 5-o'clock shadow. What would a perfect young woman like her see in a 39-year-old dork like me?
Sometime along the line, the diner's waitress-uniform changed. A minor change, maybe as minor as possible. But I, of course, did notice.
The tan, skin-colored, barely-visible-as-such pantyhose were no longer required, though some of the waitresses (often the older ones, I noted) did decide to go on wearing them, perhaps as an excuse not to worry about shaving so often.
Amanda, as perhaps the youngest waitress there, stopped wearing hers, of course, revealing to me the boner-inducing fact that her legs, which I had always assumed to be as tan as the rest of her was, were actually incredibly, almost unbelievably pale.
This paleness gave her barely wrinkled knees a ruddy, almost dirty look. The contrast between her slightly-less-pale knees and her ivory-white legs was enough to bring into my mind a brand new fantasy;
That of her being forcefully pushed to the dirty diner floor after hours by the manager, a bald old man who'd always seemed too-nice-to-be-true to me, forced to take his massive, odorous, unwashed, nine-inch cock down her throat. Forced to gag on it until she swallowed his large load of cum along with whatever vomit her gag reflex had brought up her delicate little neck.
